Connections between Artistic Practice and

Experiences in Nature: Considerations for how Art

Education Can Engender Ecological Awareness

Zuzana Vasko, Simon Fraser University

zvasko@sfu.ca

Abstract: Experiences of artistic engagement share many commonalities with those of being
immersed in the natural world. Both experiences call upon sense perception, embodiment, the
imagination, the emotions, as well as a sense of beauty and the spiritual implications it can bring.
These commonalities are of value to education in their own regard, yet when the arts are explored
and experienced in relation to the natural world, they have the potential to form fertile ground in
which the seeds of a personally involved and deep ecological awareness can grow.

Keywords: Eco-art Education; Aesthetic Experience; Phenomenological Approaches to Art;

Ecological Awareness; Holistic Education

S
tephen Jay Gould (1991) proposes that an emotional bond with the natural world is essential
if we are to protect it, for we will not fight to save what we do not love (as cited in Orr,
2004, p. 43). Art making and aesthetic engagement have their own special way of inviting
emotive relations with the subject matter they explore, and art education can thus be a subtle yet
powerful context within which to engender the kind of emotional bond Gould speaks of not just
for the sake of natural ecologies, but for our own enrichment as beings who need a sense of
belonging and connection to place, environs and other life forms. Contemporary art has
traditionally addressed mostly human concerns, part of which has been a sense of alienation from
our social and physical contexts. Yet more recently, environmental issues have become a relevant
concern addressed by artists who seek to re-examine the various ways in which we relate for
better or for worse to the natural world. Correspondingly, ecological art education has
established itself as a field in its own right (Inwood, 2008) seeking both to critique the paradigms
at the root environmental damage (Anderson & Guyas, 2012) as well as to engender more
affirmative and holistic relations between children and the natural world (Van Boeckel, 2009).
I would like to consider here some pertinent characteristics that the experiences of art
practice and immersion in nature have in common, particularly with regard to what they call upon
and address in us as engaged participants. By looking at the phenomenological nature of
encounters with art and those with nature, we can consider the ways in which these experiences
might work together in a kind of mutual augmentation. In homage to the work of Gregory Bateson,
Jan Van Boeckel (2011) explores Batesons proposal that when we find meaning in art, our
thinking is most in sync with nature (p. 1). In these contexts, the forms of communication we find
ourselves involved in are not easily defined, interconnected as they are with possibilities beyond
ourselves that we cannot always explain. It is this synchronisation the common ground shared
by these two areas that I would like to consider here in its various facets, in an endeavour to

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better understand some foundations of arts-based environmental awareness and the valuable
ramifications it can have.

Primacy
A fundamental aspect shared by these forms of engagement is that both the natural world
and the arts have been with us since the beginning of our humanity: they have shaped who we are
as a species. Ellen Dissanayake (1995) observes that the arts and culture have been a necessary
part of our evolution as human beings, and that people of all ethnicities the world over have always
engaged with the arts in some way. She addresses a core human nature that was evolved to require
aesthetic and spiritual satisfactions,(p. 3) and claims that because of the pleasure the arts give us,
because they are so emotionally satisfying, and because the cultural connections they enable us to
form have been significant to our survival, our need for them is inherently biological. In her view,
the impulse to create and make special precedes the habits of intellect and conceptualisation
so esteemed in our current times that often harm the more primal inclination to get caught up
in acts of creation.
As human beings we have always required beauty and meaning; we have sought means of
transformation that help us make spiritual sense of our predicaments and helps us authenticate our
place in the world. In tribal cultures this was often done collectively through ritual (Cajete 1994,
Dissanayake, 1995). In contemporary times, we tend to seek forms of meaning through more
individual preferences and choices, given the vast array of arts and culture options in urban centres
and through mass media. The act of creation has also acquired strong associations with individual
expression. Our contemporary ideas of art, often seen as decoration or objects of aesthetic beauty
in an edifying sense, or as means creating a personal statement or raising awareness of social
issues, are rather different from indigenous forms of art, which were integral to spiritual rituals
and more pertinent to the very basics of life (Dissanayake, 1995; London, 1989). Yet whether the
impulse is to express something, to explore and bring awareness to new perspectives, to enhance
ourselves or our objects and experiences, to find a form of transcendence or even just to gain
momentary escape, the desire for art remains inherent to being human.
It also seems self-evident that the natural world has always been an essential part of our
lives, even if it may seem notably less so in our industrialised times. Cultures evolved from the
geographies and ecologies that were home to them. For the many generations preceding ours,
reciprocal relationships between humanity and the rest of the natural world were a given (Abram,
1997). Yet even in our current times, we are affected and shaped by the landscape that gives us
home. Ones consciousness is subtly, yet palpably, different when one is on the rainy,
mountainous, wooded west coast than when one is on flat prairie with large open skies above.
There is also the deep need that we feel to be around nature. Theodore Roszak (2010) argues that
the field of psychology needs to acknowledge the connection between the human psyche and the
natural environment what he calls an ecological unconscious that on a fundamental level,
the human psyche is grafted to the planet out of which we evolved. Edward O. Wilsons concept
of biophilia holds that we have a natural, likely even a biological, affinity toward nature, an urge
to affiliate with other forms of life, (as cited in Louv, 2005, p. 43). Research around this theory
shows that as humans we respond very positively to natural landscapes, yet my sense is that this
research shows what most of us already know that our attraction to various forms of nature is
often primal, inherent and involuntary, and not something we can put down to social conditioning.

Beauty and Pleasure

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In looking at how beauty is a kind of essential cornerstone affecting our experiences of

both nature and the arts, Immanuel Kants ideas on aesthetics as proposed in The Critique of
Judgement (1790) are helpful, and not only because they address aesthetic beauty in both these
areas.i His concept of free beauty found that aesthetic enjoyment occurs when things are perceived
in a certain way, most notably without the interference of concepts or rules. There is also his idea
of disinterestedness, where we put aside self-interest, appreciating the object of our contemplation
for its own sake rather than as something that might serve us. In his consideration of this notion,
Stuart Richmond (2004) uses the example of viewing an old-growth forest, and describes how one
might respond to it in the way Kant proposes: without concepts or self-interest, allowing the eyes,
mind, and imagination to roam freely, taking in the qualities of colour and form, the imagination
being at free play with our other faculties. In my mind, that is how a child might view it, with a
sensuous primacy and freshness free of conceptual filters.
In contrast, seeing an old growth forest in terms of its botanical properties or cash value,
for example, (p. 4) are clearly concept-governed perspectives, the latter being one of self-interest
and personal gain; both would rule out the possibility of free beauty on a more purely aesthetic
level. Yet the idea of being completely concept-free is not always workable. Richmond (2004)
describes how our experience of nature can be augmented by cognitive knowledge; indeed, a fuller
appreciation often involves being able to distinguish different types of birds, flowers and trees,
appreciating, for example how an oak forest is different from one of pine and that it is a source
of much delight to be able to identify such things (p. 81). My own immersion in west coast forests
became more complete once I came to know: this is salmonberry, that is salal; these are licorice
ferns clinging to the cliff; those hauntingly lovely mosses hanging from tree branches are old mans
beard. Richmond (2004) finds that as it is, Kants concept of free beauty can succeed only by
losing touch with life (p. 82). In the context of contemporary culture, so shot through with
information, concepts and labels, and where it is difficult to escape human valuations and
interpretations of everything, the idea of free beauty may seem even less viable.
Yet, perhaps for these very reasons, a focus on the more sensuous and primal aspects of
perception liberated, even if only for a brief moment, from socially formed concepts also
seems that much more important. There is also something particularly significant about the idea
of disinterested pleasure as it applies to our experiences of art and particularly to those of nature,
since nature can also be a realm to which we turn for our practical needs of survival and material
gain. Experiences that are relatively disinterested in this regard make room for the appreciation of
beauty. Kant (1790) also proposed the notion of purposiveness without a purpose, which is
particularly fitting here: a form has a look of rightness about it as if it were meant for a function,
yet the rightness is actually that way in itself, rather than with an aim of utility. This is valuable if
we want to appreciate things for what they are, in and of themselves. I love how Iris Murdoch
(1971) puts it when she says that good art teaches us how things can be looked at and loved,
without being seized and used (p. 64). While her statement here pertains to art, it can be equally
so with nature; indeed she uses similar examples from the natural world. The experience of beauty
is described by Richmond (2004) as a sense of pleasure and well-being that we cannot help
wanting; he states Platos observation that it is the only visible quality that inspires love (p. 78).
In many respects it is essential that we do find nature beautiful in this freer sense if we are to regard
it as worthy of being close to, and of protecting. Thus, the surrender to a quality that inspires love
is in itself a valuable relational experience.
Kant (1790) also grappled with the intersubjective nature of beauty, believing that while
there are subjective differences in judgement between individuals, there are still many things we

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would agree upon as beautiful. In that regard, he aimed to show that the features of beauty go
beyond mere personal taste that they can be seen as inherent in the phenomena themselves.
Cynthia Freeland (2001) interprets his views by saying that while beauty cannot be objective, there
is something about it that is grounded in the real world (pp. 9-14). To me, there has always been
something heartening about this idea, despite encounters with varying and conflicting perceptions
of what is considered beautiful, particularly in a culture that slips easily into relativism. I also find
it especially worthwhile when it comes to our feelings toward nature: appreciating that it has
inherent qualities that might move us, albeit in slightly different ways for everyone, seems a much
more valuable ethic than the facile dismissal that while you find this beautiful, I do not. The
experience of beauty has life-affirming qualities, and is in many respects, a necessary curative to
our means-ends, techno-driven and fast-paced economy. Beautys qualities are inherently
relational, connecting us to the life both around, and within, ourselves.
I would like to take a bit further the idea of things being loved and held as special for their
own sake, free of thoughts of usefulness or personal gain. In a secular society, there is little we
might agree upon as being sacred; there is certainly not much that would remain so across time
and cultures. Yet Margaret Somerville (2006) takes on an exploration of what we might regard as
the secular sacred a means of finding a shared ethics without relying on religious spheres. It
is interesting to me how her examination of what might be meant by the secular sacred echoes the
ideas around beauty Ive been considering, particularly with reference to Kant (1790). That which
we consider sacred, Somerville (2006) says, must have some kind of authenticity apart from
utility, personal preference, or a desire that it be such it must have a life of its own (p. 54).
She speaks of intrinsic qualities, and of an inherent integrity which we agree needs to stay intact;
in other words, we dont do things to it or manipulate it simply because we can. In considering
how we experience the sacred, she mentions examples to be found in the natural world and in
beautiful music and art, then describes:
A sense of the sacred is present when we feel awe at being alive and conscious of the
beauty, world, and life around us. It is no accident that we often find that experience in
nature (p. 59).
It interests me that her examples of what we might agree upon as experiences of the sacred are the
arts and nature. It may be that a sense of the sacred has become somewhat neglected, even devalued
and mistrusted in the economically-driven thinking of our time. Yet ideas of intrinsic value,
appreciation of beauty and the sacred fulfill deep human needs.
Echoing Platos observation of beauty being the only visible quality that inspires love,
Sappho poignantly observes that one finds the most beauty in whatever one loves (Sartwell,
2004, p. vii). It seems to be somewhat of a cycle then: we love what we find beautiful, and also
find beautiful the entities we love. What one loves, or learns to love in life, can be deeply personal
and varied, and is a very important idea in its own right, especially with regard to ecological
preservation. My observation is that when it comes to beauty, it is often to forms of art or to nature
that we turn to fulfil this need. And if beauty and love are thus connected, it appears there would
then be great ethical value in finding beauty in nature, since it is out of a sense of love, more than
anything else, that we are impelled to protect it.

Sense Perception
Encounters with the natural world and engagement in art both involve our senses in such
essential and necessary ways that the entire experience sources from what our senses directly take
in. We are not being given facts, information or second-hand knowledge; rather, we absorb things

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in a more primal, direct and subtle way, and we absorb them for ourselves. The nature of the
experience is visceral and personal. Seeing or hearing something for oneself is a most immediate
way of gaining knowledge, and a sense of knowing, as opposed to gaining knowledge in an
academic sense, is gained from looking and listening sensitively, sometimes repeatedly, until what
we see and hear is internalised, becoming our own.ii Trusting our senses as a form of knowing
seems almost to go against the current in a context where mainstream systems of learning are
becoming increasingly reliant on texts and electronic media. While it might be possible to argue
that greater quantities of knowledge are available to us through information and through the telling
of others, it is often at the expense of sensory richness and depth, and ultimately a loss to the very
quality of our lived experience. In expressing concerns about the kind of know-it-all culture that
information technology has helped build, Louv (2005) observes how it has come at the price of
the richness and depth offered us by lived sensuous experience (p. 54-69).
While Louv (2005) speaks of experiences in nature, London (2003) speaks of the
importance of encountering things first hand, through the practice of art, as a means to break
through the myriad veils of indirect learning (p. 60). He also remarks how artists take the life and
wisdom of the senses seriously, as the senses reveal to us things that matter (pp. 80-87). In artistic
practice, this is often doubly true, occurring not only with regard to what is noticed and being
depicted in subject matter from the world around us, but also in the physical rendering of qualities
of form, colour, rhythm and tone in the work one makes. Biologist Rachel Carson (1956), seeking
to instil a life-long sense of wonder in a child through encounters with nature, emphasizes coming
to know the world through open and receptive senses, and values seeing and listening far above
the ability to identify certain birds or plants. Carson feels all the senses to be valuable as means of
knowing, and suggests the conscious cultivation of smell, touch and, in the example that follows,
hearing.
No child should grow up unaware of the dawn chorus of the birds in spring. He will never
forget the experience of a specially planned early rising and going out in the predawn
darkness. The first voices are heard before daybreak. It is easy to pick out these first solitary
singers... The chorus picks up volume as more and more robins join in, contributing a fierce
rhythm of their own that soon becomes dominant in the wild medley of voices. In that dawn
chorus one hears the throb of life itself (p. 68).
An augmented life of the senses is essential if we want to let in the more evocative aspects of
nature, and the senses need to be opened, honed and receptive if the voices and sights of nature are
to affect us with some depth. Artist-educator Jan van Boeckel (2009) speaks of the need to open
our senses in ways precisely such as this, citing art as a means to increase sensuous receptivity,
particularly as a countermeasure to the technological overstimulation that tends to decrease
childrens sensitivity to the subtleties of nature.
Bringing the phenomenological work of Merleau-Ponty to bear on ecological concerns,
David Abram (1997) describes how the immediacy of perception, as well as its subjective nature,
brings us closer to things: In the act of perception I enter into a sympathetic relation with the
perceived (p. 54). We are in the experience, and things unfold for us as we spontaneously
experience them, prior to all our conceptualizations and definitions. He observes how Merleau-
Ponty writes of perceived things as entities, of sensible qualities as powers, and of the sensible
itself as a field of animate presences (p. 56). To distance ourselves from our senses, then, is to
remove ourselves from relations with things. To repress sensual involvement is to become
detached, in effect to block our perceptual reciprocity with other beings (p. 56). It is clear that
he speaks here not of superficial surveillance the kind we might do when looking for a specific

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answer, or when we simply glance with unseeing eyes but rather something much more actively
participatory and immersed, involving interactive openness and a willingness to surrender to what
the entities around us might emanate. It is the kind of engagement that involves us personally. It
makes sense then, why it is no doubt easier to make decisions to clear forests and land when that
is done from an impersonal distance, looking mostly at facts, figures and maps with a view to
achieve a human-serving plan. The kind of personal, sensuous, immersion that artistic engagement
calls upon invites us instead into relationship with our surroundings.

Embodiment
Intelligence, emotions and forms of knowing reside not only in the mind, but also in the
heart, the feet, the hands, the gut and the spine; they are within the comportment of our bodies as
they manoeuvre themselves through various spaces and contexts, through the feel of various
situations. We know of muscle memory as a kinesthetic term, yet the knowledge in our muscles is
not merely the result of mechanically repeated positions and movements. In an article I once read
where musician Tom Waites describes his song-writing process at the piano, he speaks of the
fingers as being ahead of the mind in intelligence. The skills and knowledge that are called upon
in the arts reside in eyes and ears, in muscle and sinew, and sometimes, in parts of ourselves not
easily located. Significant creative decisions such as how to manoeuvre the feel and tone of a work
are not made altogether cognitively, but rely also upon something deeper down, often guided by
an intuitive gut sense. This kind of intelligence is also brought to life when we absorb and respond
to works of art. The mind might enjoy being at free play as Kant (1790) would say, and also
make valuable personal and cognitive connections, yet, at least some of the intense pleasures of
aesthetic experience are insistently bodily, as Dissayake asserts (p. 28), maintaining that the
physicality of the experience is necessarily relevant.
Something very similar occurs when we allow ourselves to be absorbed in nature. Here,
our bodies are in it: whether we hike through a wild place or observe its forms more serenely,
sensations are felt in our whole selves. It is the feel of sun on our skin, the crunch of gravel or the
crack of sticks under our feet, the shelter of shadow, or the quiver of adrenalin through our veins
at the sight of an unexpected creature crossing our paths that makes the experience what it is. It is
the ache of muscles not normally used in an urban setting, the catch deep in the breath when we
behold a vista that takes us away from the mundane. Yet while these bodily experiences are
individually felt within, they are in direct relation to that which surrounds us, to the terrain, the
temperature, the light, the insects and calls in the air. In Abrams (1997) words, The body is that
mysterious and multifaceted phenomenon that seems to always accompany ones awareness and
indeed to be the very location of ones awareness within the field of appearances (p. 37). He
speaks of a carnal resonance that is necessary to phenomenal knowing, particularly as it relates
to other forms of being in our ecologies. And this is why bodily engagement is significant as a
place of perception, emotion and intelligence, the sensing, feeling and knowing body is necessarily
in relation to other bodies around it:
To acknowledge the life of the body and to affirm our solidarity with this physical form, is
to acknowledge our existence as one of the earths animals, and so to remember and
rejuvenate the organic basis of our thoughts and our intelligence (Abram, 1997, p. 47).
It is being physically present that enables us to be part of the phenomenal world. This embodied
relatedness is also something I feel when I am drawing the contours of a tree, when I stand in front
of a painting that speaks to me, or when the composition of an image somehow feels just right.
There, too, the carnal resonance is felt.

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Emotion
Tolstoy claimed that the main task of an artist was to evoke and communicate feelings
(Freeland, 2001, p. 155). While there are other (notably Western) theories of art that focus more
emphatically on form, or those that are more cognitively oriented toward expressing ideas or
provoking social awareness, many would say that ideally a work of art includes considerations of
all of these, and that most especially it needs to express well what it aims to communicate. Susanne
Langer (1953) claims that when we understand a work of art, it is the feeling within and behind it
that we grasp, and that we often judge a work on how truthfully it expresses that feeling (pp 374-
381). In all the arts, we often deem a work by how well it conveys a certain emotional truth: in a
story, a novel, a film, even in an image, we allow for all kinds of physical realities not possible in
our real lives, yet we require emotional situations even those very different from our own to
be portrayed or symbolised with honesty if we are to be convinced or moved. While Langer uses
the term feeling in a broad sense, encompassing everything from physical sensation to the most
complex emotions, intellectual tensions or the steady feeling-tones of a conscious human life, (as
cited in Freeland, p. 160-161) her view is that the expression of feeling is central to art. Recalling
Goulds emphasis on an emotional bond with nature and other forms of life, and this realm of
feeling inhabited by art is provides rich soil where personal connection to the natural world can
take root and grow.
One might not necessarily think of involvement in the outdoors as an invitation to look into
matters of emotion in ways we may take for granted in the arts. Yet my experience and the
experiences I have heard of from others tell me that in the natural world we are more likely to
release the guards and masks we maintain in more urban settings. Somehow, nature gives us
permission to be more truly ourselves, as we are released for a moment from the role-oriented
messages that are inevitably part of an urban environment. During a presentation I did with
colleagues on educating children in the outdoors, a teacher participant raised the concern of how
to handle matters if a childs experience in the woods gave rise to strong emotional feelings. None
of us were surprised by this question, and we agreed it was a valid concern: while we often think
of retreating to nature as a balm to sooth us, it can also be an experience where the things deeper
within us are uncovered and rise to the surface.
We also tend to have strong emotions in relation to particular places. I am heartened by
David Orrs (2004) claim that we are at a time when these emotions (notably, those of love) need
to take precedence over more scientific forms of knowledge (p. 43-44). Traditionally, in the
sciences, feeling and emotion have been disregarded and viewed as suspect. Yet life and its
processes are coloured by matters of feeling, and Orrs claim is that addressing these needs to be
part of the responsibility that goes with knowledge, particularly if education is to prepare one to
take part in projects that affect the environment, as almost all human endeavours tend to do. I feel
strongly that our awareness of nature, environment and ecology needs to take hold on an emotional
level. Bill McGibben (2005) puts it incisively when he says that we are faced with a curious
paradox:
One species, ours, has by itself in the course of a couple of generations managed to
powerfully raise the temperature of an entire planet, to knock its most basic systems out of
kilter. But oddly, though we know about it, we dont know about it. It hasnt registered in
our gut; it isnt part of our culture. Where are the books? The poems? The plays? The
goddamn operas? Compare it to, say, the horror of AIDS in the last two decades, which
has produced a staggering outpouring of art that, in turn, has had real political effect. I

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mean, when people someday look back on our moment, the single most significant item
will doubtless be the sudden spiking temperature. But theyll have a hell of a time figuring
out what it meant to us (para 1).
McGibben wrote this in 2005; in more recent years, many artists have taken up the concern of
ecological issues. It seems to me critical that our younger generation come closer to their natural
ecologies in similarly affective ways. While the larger (more concerning and perhaps more
frightening) environmental issues are best reserved for more mature students, the gut-level
connection that McGibben speaks of is immensely significant with younger children as well,
though at this age it needs to be done in more positive and life-affirming ways. Innocence and love
are gut-level sensations also. The arts help us encounter and address these matters in ways that are
sincere, conscious, in-depth and, where appropriate, critical. Art can also be a means of helping
young people engage honestly and effectively with the daunting environmental issues they hear of
too often.

Affect and Imagination

We naturally accept that the arts offer us room for the subjective, the affective and for the
imagination, yet less commonly are these qualities associated with learning about ecology and the
natural world. In schools, studies of nature are traditionally taught within a scientific framework.
Yet I would argue that the affective and imaginative aspects offered us by the natural world are
substantial and need to be explored in greater depth and breadth. Emily Brady (2003) views the
imagination as a necessary complement to scientific perspectives to environmental knowledge,
even as a corrective to what might be overly cognitive approaches (pp. 158-161). She suggests that
various forms of knowing need to work in complement with each other: imagining well which
can be done with the aid of scientific knowledge is valuable in that it enables us to expand out
from, as well as return us back to, the qualities of what we are seeing. Yuriko Saito (2007) concurs
with this view, lamenting that the study of nature is concerned primarily with scientific education,
with little emphasis on promoting aesthetic appreciation (p. 84). In the context of coming to know
the natural world (whether with regard to organisms and ecology or in a more personal sense), the
imagination does two important things: it allows entities to come alive for us in a way that enables
us to relate to them, which then puts us closer to a place of empathy.
The imagination is also very responsive to nature. The open-ended and diverse qualities of
natural environments provide wonderful fodder for discovery and creativity. Louv (2005)
mentions several studies where children spending time in green spaces engage in play that is far
richer in inventiveness, make-believe and sustained stories than those who play in built
playgrounds. He cites architect Simon Nicholson, who attributes this to what he calls a theory of
loose-parts, where the various elements of the outdoors trees, rocks, streams engage the
senses and the body in a way that can be infinitely and openly combined (p. 85-87). My
experiences of taking children into fields and woods is that they interact with natural places
differently than adults do: rather than hike through them, for example, they like to be in them,
seeking out places to crawl into, imagining stories of haunted and forbidden forests and the
creatures that might live there. My son once spent part of an afternoon exploring a small creek,
imagining himself in miniature in the context of its various features and topographies.
This sense of imaginative freedom in nature is on offer for all of us, not just for children. I
find Brady (2003) puts it well in her description of Kants perspective of how the appreciation of
nature has inherent creative aspects:

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For Kant, the imagination is central in aesthetic judgements of nature. It frees the mind
from the constraints of intellectual and practical interests and enables a play of associations
and creative reflection in relation to natures qualities (p. 147).
The physical openness offered by natural places, as well as the release for a moment from urban
structures and ideas of how things should be, somehow allows for the exploration of new
perspectives. The idea of loose parts and that things can be combined in fresh ways would apply
to the adult imagination also, bringing about the sense of play Kant speaks of here, in the way
thought and perception come together.
Nature has also been the subject of much drawing, painting and photography throughout
our history. Looking back to early human life, it can also be argued, as David Orr (2004) has done,
that our inspiration from the natural world was what brought about our desire to be expressive
to sing and dance, to create images and meaningful rituals in the first place (p. 51).

Impediments
There is another important aspect shared by conscious involvement with the natural world
and with aesthetic engagement: both these experiences can be impeded, and even dismissed, by
certain facets of our everyday experience facets all too common for most of us. The fast pace
of our daily lives, the pressures to accomplish much within a certain time, preoccupation with
digital devices and with the instrumental bottom line of many endeavours: all of these can lead to
a general lack of being present and attentive to the world around us, and, also, within us. If we too
often find ourselves in a constant state of fast-forward, there is much in our lives we miss out on,
including the ability to be creative (Honore, 2004). Time pressures, distractions and lack of
presence also impede any deeper sense of the kind of aesthetic involvement that affects us
personally. Perhaps this points to one of the most substantial values of aesthetic education and of
time spent with the natural world: the acts of slowing down and of taking notice, of being present
enough to observe nuance and take seriously the affective dimensions of things around us, of taking
time to absorb and reflect, of stilling the self and being free for a time of pressures and
preoccupations these have ethical ramifications of no small significance.

Conclusion
That these two forms of experience share much in common is tremendously valuable for
both art education and environmental education, particularly if the latter seeks to create personal
connections with ecologies close to home. To me, a particularly valuable element of art education
is that it can be a means to a deeper and more appreciative awareness of our physical environs and
communities. Maxine Greene (1995) proposed that the arts encourage us to notice what there is to
be noticed. Whether our aim is to build a sense of belonging with the physical places we inhabit,
to come to know (and possibly love) natural areas and life forms for their own sake, to address
questions about how we relate to environment and other forms of life, or to voice concerns for
their well-being and, in consequence our own, this practice of noticing through the arts
invites a feelingful sense of connectedness to our natural ecologies and environments.

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References

Abram, D. (1997). Spell of the sensuous: Perception and language in a more-than-human world.
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i Kants ideas as expressed in The Critique of Judgement were initially applied to the aesthetic
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ii
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Canadian Review of Art Education, 42(2) 79

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